The purpose of our Days of Art series isn’t meant to be self-aggrandizement, and I rarely do “selfies” except in a mocking manner, but it disturbed me to realize that the anniversary of Martin Luther King’s assassination passed yesterday without my noticing. I’m not going to weep for the man here, and in fact I…
I wasn’t going to post this, but Maria has insisted that I do. I must apologize for the bad accent, but love kinda lingers and you do what you must. So, mon Juliette, this one is for you.
As read by Bill Jones, Jr. Originally read on Saturday Night Live by Eddie Murphy.
Due to lack of interest, given the time it takes to put these posts together, I have decided to end this series at Day 36. Thanks to all who stopped by. Time Lost Past by Percy Bysshe Shelley Like the ghost of a dear friend dead Is Time long past. A tone which is…
Roses are red and violets are blue. die, bitch. “To the Girl who works at Starbucks down the street from my house on Del Mar Heights Road; I swear to God, I’m not a stalker.” It’s not that I don’t love you more that I can’t remember where I end and you begin. I love…
baby when ever you play your love music, baby your notes lick along the lies others have told, and it’s rough like the tongue of an old black cat girl, but i know you mean to heal me, baby and you do, it’s just i wish you were a little more pussy and maybe a…
“Naw, I don’t get into jazz,” she said, finger popping, club hopping all the while. “I’m sure it’s fine but not my style. ‘Sides, can’t you see I’m dancing now? An’ what’s a coal train anyhow?” Club hopping, finger popping, all the while. Danced so fine, that gal of mine. Fake hair fling, brown flesh…
From November 2008: it happens in the mind long before you there were thoughts of you waiting I thought of your firm, round places that, begging for kisses, have awaited my touch chemistry from the start that will die within us our minds make love in ways they can’t understand and my dark places are…
Another poetry reading. Not sure how the sound became out of synch on YouTube, but oh well. Peace, babies.
My reading of a poem I wrote entitled “Lessons from a Zambian Road.” Be gentle, babies. It’s my first time.
Raw, Naked Art 